Reprimanding the Hound
by JuxtaposedAlbatross
Summary: "Run away, you thief." Based off the shower scene in Chapter 6 of the manga...only with a few *ahem* revisions. Of the naughtier nature. Will be multi-chapter! ShikixAkira, Yaoi.
1. Chapter One

A fanfiction I have not quite gotten around to finishing but decided to post up anyways in the hopes of recieving some feedback. This scene in the manga was just one big wasted opportunity, so naturally I had to go back and make my own adjustments. And yes, I did remove Nicholas Premier because, well, I just don't like the guy. That, and he interrupts my (diabolical) plans. :)

M for future content. Hopefully very near future content. ( AKA: Inspire me with reviews! :D)

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"Run away, you thief."

Breath hitching in exhaustion and eyes widening in a fear derived from helplessness, Akira felt himself stumbling backwards into the brick walls of the alleyway, his only weapon, a small dagger, having been knocked far out of reach. Blurring vision made out the features of his dark assailant: the ghostly smile playing across pale skin, the taunting, crimson irises glaring back through the shadows, and the thick mat of unruly black hair matched perfectly to the glimmering leather trench coat draped about his muscular yet slender form. Even more notable was the eerie glint of the lengthy metal katana positioned directly towards the pulsing junction at the base of Akira's throat, no more than a couple feet away from the vulnerable flesh.

"See if you can escape."

Akira wasted no time being told again, willing his aching joints to dislodge themselves from the support of the wall before he sprinted off, determined to live and see another day. Dying here would accomplish nothing, and his lone chance of freedom was dwindling…fast. But the only thing he could think about as raced through the dilapidated streets of Toshima was the primal need to survive. Nothing else mattered aside from that.

Spotting an entrance into one of the run-down buildings, he quickly ran over and tried the handle. It wouldn't budge. Panicked, he stole a brief glance backwards to find his hunter casually strolling into sight behind him, his steps slow and deliberate and the expression on his face one of sheer amusement. Akira felt a chill shoot down his spine at the sight of it and immediately returned his attention to the task at hand. Bracing himself for the impact, he delivered a sharp kick to the center of the door and sent it flying backwards on its hinges. Stumbling into the building, he spotted a metallic flight of stairs and lunged towards them, clambering up the rickety steps in the pitch darkness.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

The sound of hurried footsteps reverberated throughout the stairwell, contrasting greatly with the calm 'clink' of the ones following below. Though their pace was still unhurried, they now moved with more meaning, eager to give chase to the fleeing stray. Punishment would be served where punishment was due and the thrill of pursuit added all the more to the satisfaction of the kill. Hand clenching around the handle of the sword, he quickened his pace enough to where the silver-headed boy was visible just ahead as he stumbled off the steps and out of sight once again.

'_Window…where's the window?_' Akira thought frantically as he continued to run from room to room, keeping a watchful eye out for anything he could use as a weapon. A loud crash sounded a few rooms behind him just as he came across an abandoned corpse, bloodstained knife still held securely in its grasp. Biting back disgust, he lunged down to grab it, prying the sliver of metal free before spinning around to block the lunging dark form.

Blades clashed briefly before Akira stumbled backwards, scrambling over a rotting wooden desk before it was promptly sliced in two by the merciless katana. The blood pounding in his ears was enough to destroy any sense of hearing, yet he still winced at the low chuckle that escaped the man behind him as he continued to flee, feeling his endurance slowly fading with the trembling of the legs beneath him. He skidded into the closest doorway and froze, finding himself face to face with the blank tile walls of a shower room.

"A dead end," spoke the sinister voice behind him, and before Akira could react, a gloved hand clamped around his wrist so forcefully that he dropped his weapon in surprise.

Yanked around to face his enemy, Akira cringed and squeezed his eyes shut as he was slammed back into the mildewed tiles and another strong hand roughly found its way around his neck, smothering the windpipes beneath with unbelievable force.

"Ngh!" He raised his own hands to loosen the grip of the other to no avail, flailing in desperation. Somewhere amidst the struggle, the shower handle twisted, and a cascade of ice water rained down upon the two forms.

Akira's eyes flew open in surprise and found himself face-to-face with the brutal assailant. Violently red eyes stared back, a mixture of mirth and disgust within them, as if Akira was being looked down upon as a bug about to be crushed. It was downright disturbing, and he felt himself pressing back further into the wall behind him, still clawing desperately at the hand around his throat, his breath coming out as nothing more than a shallow wheeze, and fearing ever more that nothing could save him from death this time.

"Let…" he choked out as viciously as he could, "…me go!"

Using the remainder of what little strength he had left, Akira kicked up and felt his foot make contact with one of the man's legs, regretting his rebellious actions the very next moment as he was spun around and slammed face-first back into the freezing tiles. The hand that had been securely fastened around his neck moments before was now tightly clenched in his hair, grinding his face further into the immovable wall, the other restraining both of Akira's hands easily behind his back.

"Are you done yet?" Hot breath tickled Akira's ear, and he felt another fearful shiver roll through his body. Peripherally glancing the abandoned katana a few feet away, he realized that if he wanted to get away alive, his only likely chance to do so would be now. Despite that, the hand locked around his wrists was steadfast. Whoever the hell this was seemed to be way stronger than any of the Igura participants he had fought before. And what was worse, this man was fully aware of Akira's harmless crime of cleaning up those abandoned dog tags; this harmless crime, unfortunately, was punishable by death if one of the executioners got word of it. Not that any of that would matter if he died here anyways, since a personal vendetta seemed to have been staked against him the moment those crimson orbs had spied him amidst the rubble and corpses.

"Just as I'd expect of a stray. All bark and no bite." The fingers entwined in Akira's drenched locks suddenly tightened, yanking his head away from the wall and back enough to lock glares with his prey. "And now those barks have called the wolves."

Akira grimaced, the fear slowly ebbing into a dull ache in the back of his head, the heavy exhales slowing their pace into a more natural rhythm, the feeling of the leather gloves restraining him almost surreal under the artificial rain. He struggled to put together what was left of his thoughts, muscles relaxing, waiting for the perfect moment to counter back with that tiny reserve of strength he still held on to. He needed to find a way to avoid being killed outright; a distraction…anything.

"Who…" he managed to breathe out, the words nearly lost under the splattering of water against the tiles, "…are you?"

The fingers entwined in his hair tightened noticeably and a cold smile found its way onto the lips of his captor. "I could ask you the same question. Unfortunately, I already know the answer: yet another Line-crazed scumbag among the filth of this city too doped up on drugs to play by the rules. The only question I have is this: do I kill you here, or let you live to bark another day?"

Akira ignored the arrogance in that final comment, still thinking at breakneck speed how to remove himself from this situation. "…You're wrong…"

An amused grunt broke the temporary silence that followed.

"I have…never used Line…"

The hand clenched around Akira's soaked locks loosened momentarily, the hand slinking around to grasp his chin and yank it sideways to stare into those blood red eyes yet again. A mild curiosity played within them this time as they examined the exhausted features of Akira's face, leaning in closer for more emphasis. "Then why would you throw your life away for a bunch of junk tags, hm?"

Akira met the assailant's gaze as steadily as he could, encouraged by the continued discarded state of the katana. "I need to challenge Il-Re."

"Not much of a chance of that now, is there?" Gloved fingers traced down Akira's neck, right along the pulsing vein of the jugular, reminding him just how vulnerable he was in his handicapped state, outlining the nature of his submission. "But 'need'…is an interesting word…"

'_Shit._' Akira thought to himself, wishing he had been a little more generic with his response. The people he was working for behind the scenes required his utmost secrecy on the importance of his mission, the same one that, if he could accomplish, would ultimately lead to his promised freedom. That freedom was growing farther and farther away as death continued to inch closer, one of its messengers already here to greet him.

"I _want _to…defeat him." Akira corrected himself, feeling ridiculous as the words left his mouth. They sounded forced, fake, and the suspicious recognition in his opponent's eyes remained steadfast, knowing now that he had discovered something not meant to be identified. Akira averted his eyes to the wall beside him, and the fingers resting on his neck immediately flew up to jerk his face back towards the inquisitive stare.

"You're lying." The man stated plainly after another few seconds had gone by. 'There's someone behind you pulling the strings."

Akira felt himself noticeably stiffen at the sudden revelation, and blanched the moment he felt a loose hand roaming down the expanse of his jacket. The fingers worked their way down the soaked fabric, lightly grazing the tense muscles of Akira's abdomen before finding their target in a baggy front pocket: the cell phone they had given him as means of a tracking device. It could do nothing but receive calls, therefore had proven generally worthless during Akira's stay here in Toshima, but it would still serve as hard evidence to the already convinced man now examining it. Yet another satisfied smirk found its way onto the pale features before him.

"Care to explain?"

Holding the small device up to eyelevel with the still loose hand, Akira found himself making a swift decision to yank quickly out of the grasp of the other one and make a run for it, tracer be damned. What a good idea it seemed like turned out to be the opposite of reality when after the first subtle jolt, the phone was dropped to the floor and the free hand personally slammed Akira's face back into the clammy tiles. Despite himself, Akira yelped in pain, feeling a previous wound on his scalp re-open in the warm rush of blood that trickled down his forehead. The force of the impact was enough to send his mind reeling, and whatever coherent thoughts he had managed to maintain up until that moment vanished completely, leaving nothing but a bloody nose and a throbbing headache.

"Still defiant, I see." The voice hissed coldly into Akira's ear, and the restraint on his hands twisting the wrists considerably behind his back. "I'll have to see what I can do about that."

Lightheaded, Akira was only vaguely aware of the sharp pain at the junction of his neck and shoulder as teeth tore into the soft flesh there, clamping down on the pulsing veins beneath until the skin broke and warm liquid seeped beneath into his already drenched clothes. A tongue flicked out momentarily to taste the salty fluid before biting down again, this time even harder than the last.

Snapped out of his reverie, Akira gasped at the feeling of teeth digging into the sinewy muscle beneath, a mix of confusion and fear creeping back into his awareness. It hurt, badly, but to complain was to surrender and Akira was growing tired of this dreadful anticipation of to-live-or-not-to-live. He repressed a shutter as the free hand continued to roam across his collarbone, repeating its path down the drenched t-shirt until it reached the waistband of his pants, pulling back up just enough to bring the edge of the shirt with it, gloved fingers slipping under the side to press directly on where blood had begun to drench the cloth. Akira groaned as the wound he had been capable of ignoring only moments before began to reopen under the harsh handling, feeling the bandages relieved of their purpose as they were torn off forcefully. He suddenly felt like screaming, now realized how badly the wound stung, especially under the mercilessly cold water raining down upon it.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and pressed his forehead back into the tile wall, trying to concentrate instead on the intense pain resulting from his twisted wrists, blocking out the unnerving form of torture his captor was trying to put him through now.

The teeth retracted slowly, but not without one final assertation of dominance in the form of a throaty chuckle and a languid lick across Akira's jawbone, leaving a trail of blood and saliva to degrade the boy further into frightened submission.

The crimson eyes smirked, pulling Akira back to face the icy water head on before casually tossing him out of the range of spray, his aching form skidding onto the hard floor with an 'oomph' and a hiss of pain. Before he had even reopened his eyes, the sharpened tip of the katana was pointed directly at the base of his throat yet again, and he looked up incredulously at the dark form before him.

"I don't like repeating myself. Who are you working for?"

Akira scowled, brazen with the knowledge of the forgotten dagger lying just out of his reach. "None of your goddamn business."

"Is that so?" The edge of the sword made a slight but forceful jab into the dampened flesh at Akira's sternum, earning an outward cringe from the silver-haired boy still locked in an exchange of challenging glares with the expert swordsman inflicting it. The blade had barely moved, but the pain was excruciating, and continued to be so as the wound was guided downwards, ripping through the drenched cloth of his exposed shirt. Akira shuddered as the icy metal found itself hovering above the clenched muscles of his abdomen. The shirt, no longer connected, hung loosely in two on either side of his tense form, divided by a distinct trail of blood seeping languidly from the scarred flesh.

It was a challenge; Akira knew that, saw it in the cold eyes of the beast, to see how far he'd be willing to go to preserve his secrecy, his pride, his very life. There was no wavering in that brutal glare that suggested he would hesitate to shed blood where it had been threatened. No hesitation whatsoever. But Akira felt his fingers crawling slowly, blindly out behind him in search of the knife he knew was there, and he realized all too soon that his actions hadn't gone unnoticed.

Maybe it _was _his pride over-doing it. Maybe he should have surrendered the moment he had been discovered. Maybe, just maybe, without the arrogance of his persistent and futile attempts to redeem his lost dignity, this encounter could have ended differently, not with a gleaming blade ripping through the already bruised skin of Akira's shoulder, scraping into the floor beneath with one swift stroke.

The scream had left him before he could stifle it, echoing off the walls until the last of the pain had numbed him, until he felt his eyelids droop and his consciousness fade. He wanted to sleep so badly, close his eyes and ignore the world, slip off into sweet ignorance and not have to worry about the fucked-up state his life had been in these last few years. Death would almost be mercy at this point. Yet Akira still recognized that the wound inflicted upon him was not a fatal one, and that he still very much needed to live, if not for himself then for those supporting him, the ones that had helped him make it this far in the first place, and because he still wouldn't let the disgusting smirk hovering above him be the last thing he'd ever see.

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So yeah, unfinished. Part two will be up once I figure out how to continue this (laughs). Reviews are greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Okay, so I feel like some form of an apology is in order. I am honestly (and very sincerely) extremely excited by all of the wonderful reviews chapter one got (THANK YOU TO EVERYONE! If I had the time to reply to you all, I would) - seems like I'm not alone in my perverted little fantasies. Yet it's taken me...what, more than a few months to get out the next chapter? T_T I'm doing the best I can, given my (constant) struggles with writer's block and an obscene amount of calculus work that is slowly eating out whatever soul I may have once had.

Not to worry, I am alive. And I am not giving up on this story. It just may take a little longer to conclude than I originally thought, given that my entire idea for its direction when I first started writing it has shifted, well, somewhat radically. Also, my constant obsession for keeping the characters actually IN character has made my decisions for the plot direction especially difficult. It's a pain in the ass, but I'm not about to sacrifice the integrity of the characters I was inspired to write about just so they can get it on like crazy little rabbits (that will come later :D). So, yeah, I seem to be making this into an actual story (gasp). No pwp. If that isn't what you were expecting (and to be honest, I wasn't either), I apologize, but hang in there and I promise it'll be worth your while. )

Oh, and special thanks to** SeptumPellucidum** (oh yes, I did just bring out the caps lock), because without her constant badgering and/or encouragement, this may have never made it to cyberspace. She's been immensely helpful, and, being the only person I know in reality that I would actually share this ridiculousness with, has really done a lot to help me sort all this out. If anyone's keeping this story alive, it's her.

So, without further ado, I give you chapter two.

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**CHAPTER TWO**

"It seems that you've made your choice."

Akira fought to retain consciousness, the blade lodged in his shoulder a burning reminder of his forced submission. He gritted his teeth involuntarily as he felt the blade shift a fraction, guided purposefully by the deft hand wielding it. The crimson flames watching him sparked out of the blackness.

"I don't know." Akira clenched his eyes shut, spitting out the words as if they had scorched his tongue. "I don't know who sent me here. I don't know why either."

The man appraised him somewhat quizzically, halting the subtle movements of the katana as he ran his eyes over the pallid face of the boy struggling beneath him.

"And why would I believe that?"

Akira found his eyes fling open at the condescension in the man's tone, a prideful nature spurring on his indignant reaction. He resisted a strong urge to grab at the blade and rip it from his flesh, the practicality within him warning of the possible consequences: a well-guided swipe could take his entire arm off in his current position. All he could do was grimace and glare, doing his best to ignore the nausea brought on by blood loss.

"Because I'm telling the truth." He hissed, feeling every slight shift in the blade's position. The metal was ice against his bare skin, the searing pain similar to that brought on by extreme cold.

"If you're begging for your life, then I think you'll need to be much more persuasive with your responses."

Akira bit back another cry of pain as the katana withdrew from his shoulder and repositioned above his chest, below which his heart was pumping furiously with adrenaline.

"Now try again."

The irregularity of his breathing betrayed the growing fear Akira was beginning to feel creep into his awareness. Every part of his being was screaming at him to beg, grovel, do anything to avoid what was sure to end in inevitable death as he continually refused to disgrace himself further than he already had. Biting back the last piece of information he had – the purpose of his mission and the peculiarity of the one-armed woman who had sent him on it – seemed like an incredible insult to his sagacity: what reason was there to protect the interests of an unknown organization holding his very life hostage? None. But Akira's inability to comply with the demands of his assailant had little to do with that. If he'd had everything in the world to confess it was likely that he'd still defiantly grind his teeth in favor of sharing one shred of information with someone demanding he reduce himself to a groveling dog.

Therefore, it was against every fiber of his being that Akira remained silent under the calculating stare of his enemy, the importance of his dignity astoundingly winning over the value of his life.

Glowing embers watched the internal conflict rage within the boy's eyes, gloved fingers still steadfast in their grip of the sword's handle. It was all too obvious to the dark-haired man that whatever his victim knew of his true purpose here in Toshima was miniscule at best and would most likely serve as nothing but confirmation of the underlying forces behind the actions of this decrepit city. Those same forces, acknowledged with a subtle tightening of his grip, he was already well acquainted with. Those were matters not to be resolved by the pointless confessions of a rogue pawn, regardless of whether the silver-headed boy realized it himself or not.

The true joy of the hunt was found in that final moment when all hope would vacate his prey's countenance and those reliable instincts of self-preservation would kick in, throwing a defeated opponent to his knees in terror, begging, crying, worshipping the power the deftly handled katana held over their life, all in hopes of eluding an already sealed fate at the price of dying a mongrel's death.

It was a pathetic existence, humanity. Always ending so predictably.

Almost always so predictably.

A ragged cough interrupted the silence, one that forced the distracted embers to refocus onto their target expectantly. Fresh blood dribbled down from the corner of the boy's mouth, now set in an indignant grimace. The internal conflict appeared over, yet there was no further action taken by the injured party: no cry for redemption, no further explanation, just a newly steeled glint to the already challenging glare the boy had yet to let falter. Exposed skin still trembled with pain, wounds still seeped red ooze, but the breathing that had increased in fear only moments before had now leveled significantly, a strange sort of calm settling over the condemned victim.

But that hatred. Vivid, unmistakable defiance to the expected course of the game. No low-level scum had ever refused to bow to his blade before; the remaining life in Toshima lived to die in shame. There was something different about this one. He intended to die with his pride in tact.

Silence.

Akira braced himself for the final blow, almost relieved for the burning wounds to cease tormenting him. He kept telling himself over and over in his head that he had done all he could, that now was not the time to be noticing the somewhat distracted demeanor that had come over the swordsman, that even if he were to evade that final, killing blow, that there was no way in hell he'd be able to outrun anyone in his state.

He was useless. He was fading. He was fighting to retain his last moments of awareness as more and more of his blood was ending up a stain on the clammy tile floor. His eyelids were closing of their own accord and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He'd lost.

At least the god-awful smirk had disappeared.

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"Did you hear, man? They say Shiki made a real mess of some guys near Otsuka last night. Found the bodies all mutilated and shit this morning."

The other loafer scoffed, kicking a piece of abandoned rubble as he adjusted his grip on the metal pipe, rhythmically tapping it into his other hand. "The guys over there are weaklings anyhow. They don't got the 50% yet."

"Yeah, but hell, they say it was like a fuckin' massacre. Blood and limbs everywhere. Somebody must've done somethin' to piss him off."

Crack. A particularly weathered piece of concrete hit the brick wall, shattering into fragments.

"Who the fuck cares? The way I feel now, I could take on the whole Igura! Those guys ain't got nothin' on the power of 50%. Not even Shiki. Hell, I'd fight him right now if he showed up."

Keisuke watched the conversation cautiously from just inside the shelter of the hotel lobby, a nervous hand clutched around a bottle of water. The two had been bickering in the alley opposite the neutral zone for some time now, visible only through the half-open doorway. Feeling already immensely uncomfortable with his surroundings, he had found it easier to focus on something rather than shift awkwardly while awaiting Akira's return. The occasional glance by a passing entrant made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he'd involuntarily hunch his shoulders to signify less of a threat.

God forbid someone took him as any level of threat, he thought with apprehension, staring fixedly at the floor as a group of men, splattered with the blood of less fortunate contestants, walked by.

"…at least twenty guys…"

As Keisuke tuned back into the conversation, an oppressive feeling of anxiety settled over him. All this talk of massacres was not helping to ease his worry over Akira's safety; ever since they had split up the day before, he had been feeling guilty for abandoning his injured friend. Sure, it had been Akira's idea for them to part, sending Keisuke ahead with the intentions of regrouping at the safe house. Keisuke knew that he was nothing more than a tag-along to his more courageous and experienced companion, and he knew that his presence was likely more of a burden than wanted company, so when the order had been given for him to leave, he had reluctantly agreed to do so.

He now wished that he hadn't.

Ever since he had arrived, he had been on the look-out for the familiar silver head of hair, familiar dark green parka, familiar anything. Nothing was familiar at all about the boisterous line addicts surrounding the hotel premises, the likes of which were getting increasingly more brazen in this so-called "neutral" territory. From the looks of things, it wasn't destined to be so for long.

"Akira." he spoke absently, glancing up at the darkening sky through the doorway. _Where are you?_

_

* * *

_

By the time his eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room, Akira had already affirmed that he was, indeed, alone. Why he was still alive, on the other hand, remained a complete enigma.

He motioned to cradle his throbbing head with a palm damp with sweat before gasping aloud at the immediate surge of pain in his shoulder.

"Dammit." Akira cursed, remembering all too well the wounds he had sustained up until this point. His side was on fire as well, the lack of a tourniquet over the raw gash having lead to a freshly dried layer of blood crusting over his skin. He exhaled sharply as he examined the damage, finding that despite the recent agitation, it had been healing quite nicely under the bandages. The absence of them, visible under the tatters of his torn shirt, had exposed the lesion for him to observe. He tried not to dwell on the pulsating pain near his shoulder blade and continued to assess his condition.

No broken bones, no fresh wounds. Aside from the near gaping slash in his shoulder and the lightly bleeding laceration in his side, the rest of his injuries were minor at best. And he was still, surprisingly, breathing.

Akira glanced up to scan the room warily, his instincts of survival returning alongside his perception of the situation at hand. He was not dead. He was not being currently threatened with death. And the haunting crimson irises were nowhere to be seen. The room itself looked just the same as it had before: small and cramped, walls plastered in tile, and a partially boarded window across the hall allowing just enough light to trickle in to indicate that the sun had risen. How long ago, Akira could only guess.

Upon his initial awakening, Akira had found himself discarded in the middle of the floor and had slowly, albeit painfully, managed to drag himself to the nearest wall, propping his back up against the rigid structure. In the time it had taken for his brain to register the situation, he had been coming to terms with the fact that, though he had outright challenged it, death had yet to claim his life, leaving him instead to continue to fight for survival in a broken body and an anxious mind.

He had honestly thought it was all over. The end had seemed inevitable, given the countenance of his mysterious and persistent assailant. There had been nothing short of murderous intent within that sadistic stare, and the juxtaposition between it and Akira's current status as alive and breathing was downright disturbing. He would not for one minute believe that he was out of what felt like omnipresent danger. Even now, virtually defenseless and wounded, hidden from the world outside the small shower room, Akira had his guard up. The threat of immediate death was gone; his will to live would continue to push him on. The only difference, beside near-crippling injuries, was the addition to his mindset that there existed at least one enemy within this rampant city whose power he had trembled before in fear.

This wasn't a game; it was more like a bloodbath. The thought that soon, very soon, he'd be forced to confront the true brutality of it all and either kill or be killed, all for the sake of winning back his own freedom, was slightly jarring.

But Akira tried to push that to the back of his mind as he slowly rose to his feet, supporting his weight with a lone palm planted on the wall. It was difficult, but not impossible to make his way along said wall and stumble into the shower. It was even more so to one-handedly remove his jacket and what remained of his shirt, tossing them just outside the range of spray before he twisted the nozzle, instigating an icy rain both uncomfortable and necessary. He cringed as water pelted down but concentrated on washing off as much blood as possible, well aware of the repercussions of walking around _looking _injured in the dog-eat-dog world of the Igura.

After the last of the copper-tinted water swirling down the drain had disappeared, Akira managed to bind his wounds lightly with the discarded fabric of his shirt, effectively covering most of the bloody splotches with his jacket. A quick glance at the filtered sunlight confirmed that he still had some daylight left to travel, and for the first time, his thoughts drifted towards Keisuke with concern. He had no idea how long he'd truly been out or whether or not his friend had managed to find the neutral zone unharmed – a thought that settled heavily over his already stressed thoughts – but his motivation for setting out increased exponentially at the thought. There was no time to be wasted resting up or recovering; he had to move now.

If not, the remembrance of the unearthly crimson eyes reminded Akira of his strongest instinct to flee.

* * *

A/N: So maybe ending it on that note was a bit cruel. But hey, if it's any reassurance, I've already started chapter three (some of which was originally part of this chapter, but for the sake of cohesion, I decided to delay its release until I had written more). This was mostly a necessary build-up chapter.

Oh, and I promise NOT to make Keisuke a major character. This is definitely ShikixAkira-centric, and I don't do "love triangles". So his use for me is mainly as a bridge (lol) for when I need gaps in between whatever. Perhaps he'll serve another purpose down the road if the story really calls for it, but there will be NO AkiraxKeisuke development_ whatsoever_. Because I know neither of us want him interfering. Well, at least I don't. ^^

And as always (god, I am long-winded today), I would really love to hear anything you have to say about this. Translation: I'm a review whore. So help feed my addiction! :D


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: So, I'm not going to waste time justifying this somewhat belated release date, just be glad that it took me less time than the last one. I'm always impressed by the fact that I upate at all (lol). Thanks again to my wonderful reviewers / readers / favoriters / alerters! When I have the time to go back and respond to you guys (because some of you left me some amazingly ego-boosting reviews), I will, and I'll try to actually respond to whomever leaves comments from now on (incentive? :D).**

**Anyways, someone asked me last chapter in a review how long I intend to make this...the answer is not epically long (do not have the committment to write a novel), but probably longer than a few more chapters. If the question was directed at how much longer it's going to take for me to finish it, well, that I can't answer. My muse is lazy and unpredicatable, unfortunately.**

**And to any really squeamish readers (dunno how you made it this far), there is some graphic violence in this chapter. It was necessary, really. :)**

* * *

The rain couldn't have chosen a better time to flood the abandoned streets of Toshima.

Doggedly, Akira staggered past the rubble, a hand unconsciously clenching his injured shoulder, knuckles white with restrained pain. Heavy exhales were drowned out by the ferocity of the downpour, helping also to disguise the newly bleeding wounds he was doing his utmost to ignore.

Yet while the rain had helped with clearing the streets of unwanted attention, Akira also realized that it was becoming increasingly difficult to judge the direction he was heading, the obvious landmarks blurred beyond recognition in the fury. Combined with the continuously compiling effects of blood loss, his immediate return to the neutral zone – and reunion with Keisuke – was looking less likely by the minute.

Another surge of pain at the rawness of his wounds had Akira cringing and stumbling under the nearest dilapidated doorstep, pressing his back momentarily against the exposed brick wall. It was definitely easier to breathe when free from the oppression of the downpour, and Akira was tempted to sink to the ground and rest for a moment, but the paranoia of being caught wounded and off-guard urged him forward.

_Somewhere safer_, he thought persistently to himself. _If I have to stop, I better do it somewhere safer._

With a lurch forward, Akira continued onwards, pushing all opposing thoughts aside in his determination. There was still some time before nightfall to find a resting place, and he sure as hell wasn't going to give up until he found one.

* * *

Gloved hands skimmed the dripping edge of the katana lightly, just enough to wipe away the droplets of moisture that remained on the glimmering metal.

"What do you mean our newest 'shipment' never arrived? Do you realize how fast the market is growing for the 50%?"

Heavy black boots still wet from the pavement outside dripped silently onto the stained wooden surface of the desk, propped up over an array of paperwork.

"This is money we're talking about. Money!"

Red irises travelled lazily down the length of the sword, not even bothering to glance upwards at the ranting man in front of them stalking back and forth throughout the office. He regarded the pointless fretting as he would a fly buzzing haphazardly around the room, deeming the effort of swatting such a harmless nuisance not worth the exertion.

"In the case you have forgotten, such matters do not concern me."

The pacing man halted, his mask doing little to conceal the concern on his face at the dismissive tone in the other's voice. He recovered quickly, however, his eyes flitting quickly from the unsheathed katana to the empty briefcase lying askew on the desk, before he adjusted the feather boa around his neck impatiently.

"No, I…I haven't forgotten. But why else are you here?"

The fiery gaze glanced up but for a moment, flashing a warning, before settling back down upon the blade. "Is it truly your place to question that?"

"N-no. I am grateful for your assistance regardless, Il Re."

The boots slipped suddenly off of the desk, scattering paperwork in their wake, as the dark-haired man arose from his seat. The katana remained within a steady grasp as he walked past the cowering masked man and stopped, glancing over his shoulder.

"Nothing I do is with the intention of helping you. Do not mistake my actions, Arbitro."

The masked man withered at the unvoiced threat, his eyes once again fixating on the sharpened sword in the other's hand with further nervous apprehension. He couldn't seem to find the words to respond, his voice lost somewhere inside his throat, as he watched from behind as leather gloves slowly re-sheathed the katana, the tempo drawing deliberate attention to its immaculate edge as it disappeared beneath the cover of the black trench coat.

"Remember your place."

It wasn't until his was the only presence left in the disarray remaining of his office that Arbitro could let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding in.

* * *

Even through the haze left behind by the rain and twilight, Akira could make out the figures of a warring group of contestants somewhere near the middle of the intersection adjacent to the alleyway he had emerged from. With reflexive backtracking, he ducked back into the shadows and peered warily out at the fight.

The abrupt halting of the stormy weather previously keeping addicts like these off the streets and out of his way left Akira stranded without a secure hiding place to wait out the oncoming night. He grit his teeth in a mixture of annoyance and pain, cursing both his current physical state and his luck at running into not only one, but an entire group of drug-enhanced competitors as he debated upon how to maneuver around them unseen. Their position left the expanse of the two intersecting streets in sight, meaning that the only way to be sure to avoid them required he backtrack an inane amount - something that it would take past nightfall to accomplish in any case. It was impractical and had the potential to backfire if he happened upon another lot of challengers along the way.

Akira moved to place the hand of his uninjured arm on the dagger strapped to his belt. He had thought to arm himself with it before setting out earlier, seeing as how it had still been discarded in the same place on the floor when he woke up. He had hoped he wouldn't need to use it yet - and still didn't - but he made sure his fingers were tightly locked around its handle as he continued to observe the bloody scuffle.

There were six of them in total, not counting the looted corpse of another lying somewhere in the midst of them. It appeared that at least four were allied, probably having been out on the hunt for weaker opponents with tags to steal, but all seemed to be hyped up on line, the effects of the drug evident in the inhuman strength with which they were pummeling each other. It wasn't exactly normal to laugh at having a pipe smashed over your head either.

In pressing himself back against the brick wall, Akira turned his eyes away from the conflict, now more sure than ever of his inability to fight his way through them. His one saving grace lay in the fact that all of the dog tags he had managed to accumulate throughout his fights in Toshima were all gone, having disappeared upon his awakening in the shower room. It technically meant that there was no reason for any other contestant to attack him, but Akira knew better than to find solace in that; Toshima's inhabitants were the type to attack first and ask questions later, and most seemed to find more fun in the actual kill than reaping the rewards anyways.

"Ahaha, looky here guys! Look who decided to show up!"

Akira stiffened, having at first thought that one had spotted him, but a quick glance in their direction told a different story. The brawlers _had_ stopped their fight, but now all faces were turned towards the street parallel but opposite to the alleyway in which Akira was staked out, scanning the ruins of the roadway for a sign of the subject of their fixation.

"Aw, shit. I ain't fightin' Shiki."

_Shiki? _Akira frowned, remembering hearing that name mentioned before. Something akin to a warning had been associated with it - of that he was sure - but the details were blurry in his mind.

Before he was able to catch sight of anyone, however, Akira was forced to re-flatten himself against the bricks as one of the men sprinted past his alleyway, oblivious to his presence. He assumed that whoever it was had made the previous comment, but that a raucous addict was fleeing at the face of anyone sent off an alarm in his brain. It was now, more than ever, that he needed to retreat; at the same time, he was dangerously intrigued at catching a glimpse of whoever held that infamous name, half-heartedly justifying himself by emphasizing the importance of knowing the face of one of his strongest enemies.

"C'mon man, I'ma help knock you down a notch!" the first voice rang out again, followed by a chorus of laughter from the remaining challengers. The drugs had apparently clouded all sense of rational judgment based on the reaction of who Akira supposed was the most sober of the group. "Even _you_ can't beat me on the 50%!"

With his pulse pounding in his ears, Akira cautiously shifted to glance back out, his eyes landing on a darkly-clad figure emerging from the haze. By the time he registered the black leather, unsheathed katana, and the smoldering red irises, Akira had frozen on the spot, his stomach doing back flips at the horrible revelation. The amused smirk plastered onto his now-identified assailant's face seemed to leer at him past the unsuspecting druggies handing their lives over on a silver platter.

Shiki strode confidentially and without hurry towards his intended victims, the expression on his face unmistakably predatory in nature. Whatever challenges the addicts threw his way went unanswered. He made no remarks himself either as he advanced, subtly swinging the blade to and fro in a mock gesture of killing blows.

And as much as his instincts willed him to move, Akira found himself unable to look away, almost afraid of turning his back on the very core of his newfound fears. It felt as if at any moment those eyes would focus on him, alerted by even the slightest of motions. That if he turned and ran, it would somehow be a death sentence. That if he didn't escape, the very real danger of being discovered would be all the more likely. His mind was at an impasse, but his body was paralyzed, unwilling to move.

Therefore, thinly veiled by casting shadows, Akira stood and watched as the first of the addicts lunged towards gleaming blade.

The others followed closely behind, not to be shown up in their delirious victory. And for a moment – the moment before reaching the range of the katana – their sheer strength seemed to overshadow the confidence held within those vermilion eyes. Raised weapons, rabid expressions, unbridled hostility. Yet the second they crossed that invisible threshold, the scene was painted a vastly different picture.

The first limb to go was an arm. The instigator of the attack was reduced another part by the second strike, in which his neck was severed with surgical precision, leaving the head to plunge to the ground unceremoniously.

An oncoming flank was blocked by deft footwork and the clashing of blades; the third assault counter-attacked by the deflection of the second, the katana changing course to glide into a fleshy waist and out the opposite side. It was a clean cut, avoiding the ribs, yet the yawning wound it produced only worsened as the screaming attacker stumbled backwards and to the ground violently, tearing the laceration underneath the gushing of blood and spillage of organs.

The macabre dance continued as Shiki swiveled around to parry another futile blow, thrusting through the hilt of the sword into his opponent's unguarded abdomen before twisting the handle and yanking it back out in a manner as vicious as it was impersonal. There was but a brief pause as he assessed the remaining two attackers, no longer jovial and self-assured, but indescribably overcome with fear and panic.

Before they could make the decision to flee, however, fate was decided for them.

A swift advancement gained the momentum required for the katana to take the legs out from beneath the first, leaving him a thrashing mass on the ground. The other, already stumbling away, was caught just as easily and finished simply in an upwards stab to the heart. This time, the katana was removed slowly, savoring the taste of blood on its meticulously sharpened blade.

Behind him, the legless junkie was manically clawing his way across the gravelly earth, his progress marked by erratic streaks of blood. He was sobbing, cursing, babbling away from the disregarding form of Shiki, who was beginning to wipe the blood off the finely honed edge with a couple of gloved fingers.

His progress was pitifully short before he collapsed completely back onto the ground, pleading loudly, begging for help as he bled out onto the road.

Akira stared soundlessly from the shadows, his mind soaking in the brutality of the carnage before him, his legs struggling to maintain the weight atop them. It had been too easy…way, way too easy for the fight to have ended in a matter of mere moments. Every blow had been intended to either kill or maim with the intention of death, and each had succeeded efficiently and effectively. There had been no wasted exchanges, no hesitation, no mistakes on the part of the victor.

It had never really been a fight to begin with. It had been a massacre.

Gripping onto the wall for support, Akira fought the urge to vomit, feeling the pain in his shoulder and waist all the more intensified by visual contact of their potential magnitudes. There was no hope to run now; he needed support to even stand.

"Pathetic, aren't they?"

Behind the voice, the wretched cries of the dying man.

Akira stiffened, the tremors that had been racking his frame halting as well. His grip on the dagger tightened painfully, his breathing somewhat labored, as he tilted his head back towards the carnage.

Shiki still had his back turned, was still running his fingers along the blade, but the tone of his voice indicated certain levels of both amusement and disgust.

Akira made no effort to reply.

A raspy cough of blood from the dying man.

"They face a death they know not the face of, the drugs acting merely as a catalyst to bring forth their hasty ignorance."

Another cough.

"They deserve death."

Silence.

Finally, Shiki turned towards the alleyway, his eyes glinting mysteriously as they found Akira's through the growing darkness, the sun now fully submerged under the horizon.

* * *

"Akira's not back yet?"

Keisuke glanced up to see the concerned face of Ren, arms folded behind his head as he looked around the nearly vacant hotel lobby. The crowd that had gathered in search of shelter from the rain had almost completely dispersed upon its halting, scurrying back out into the rubble of Toshima like rats, regardless of the declining daylight.

"No…he isn't." Keisuke murmured, directing his gaze back towards the floor as his elbows slumped forward once again onto his knees. He couldn't remember how long he'd been sitting on the sofa like this, scanning the room for any sign of familiarity. He didn't even remember the last time he had eaten.

"He probably just waited out the rain or something. Maybe fell asleep?" Ren grinned optimistically, not wholly believing the words himself but hoping Keisuke would find some solace in them.

"Yeah," Keisuke responded, albeit not very enthusiastically.

Ren sighed, seeing the dejection on the other's face, "You hungry?"

An embarrassing stomach growl answered the question before any sort of verbal response could be given.

"Alright, I'll go get us some solids."

Laughing, Ren set off towards what had once been the hotel's classy reception desk; now, it was a messily thrown together stockpile where items of all variety were being traded off in exchange for dog tags. The thought made Keisuke wonder how many more Akira would have to amass before he could challenge the Il Re and win back his freedom, his own absence of tags proving to increase the difficulty of surviving without his friend around. If Akira never came back…

_I have to go out there and find him_,Keisuke thought, drawing himself up from his previously slouched position. _If there's anything I can do to help, I have to try. It's better than wasting away here._

By the time Ren had turned and walked back to the sofa, he was already gone.

* * *

**A/N: I am such a tease, sorry about that. I hate cliffhangers just as much as the next person, but wanted to post this up before it got too long (and took more time). But I can pretty much promise that shit is gonna go down next chapter. Hey - at least now I can start referring to Shiki as Shiki. XD**

**As always, reviews are welcome! Very, very welcome...if you know what I mean. And I think you do. ;)**


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: So, I'm lazy and my inspiration flip-flops and has to compete with my other interests when I have the time, but I am once again alive and still working on this story. Best of all, I actually took the time this story was on (unplanned) hiatus to write up a timeline for the remaining chapters. Hopefully actually knowing where this is heading will make updates a more recent occurrence. But yes, as of now, there are around 12-ish chapters planned (way more than I initially intended to write, but then again, I didn't think this would actually catch on as it has). That's liable to change, but only by maybe plus or minus a couple chapters. The ending is still pretty hazy in my mind. T_T**

**And if anyone is curious, the song "Passive" by A Perfect Circle has been the greatest inspiration for (and large part of the soundtrack behind) this fic so far. The vibe of the song just seems to suit this pairing, even if the lyrics don't (exactly) match up.**

**Anyways, enjoy…and thanks to all of you who continue to stick around. **

* * *

Even if he had been uninjured, in the peak of his street fighting days, and had nothing in the world to lose, the look directed at him through the darkness of the alleyway would have triggered Akira's instinct of flight; the animalistic side of his subconscious would have easily conquered his pride in a desperate effort to survive. But as a deer staring down the headlights of an oncoming truck had only that one crucial moment to register the threat and act, he knew that his window of opportunity had passed long ago. Perhaps, it had never really been there in the first place.

Shiki said nothing more, seemingly contemplative against the backdrop of the melting city skyline. Around him, growing puddles of blood mixed with accumulated rainwater beneath the mutilated corpses, shedding the scene in a macabre light.

Akira found it difficult to swallow down the next wave of nausea, his good shoulder now slumped against the brick wall of the alley in support. His hand still clutched feebly at the dagger, but it served as less of a sense of security than a reminder of his position on the battlefield. He knew he could fight if he had to, but he also knew how inevitable his defeat would be. The fact that the man before him had decided against killing him previously was an enigma, but it still provided little comfort in the face of a new confrontation.

All he could do was wait.

"You still haven't answered my question."

Leather clad fingers guided the katana upwards, and for a moment, Akira tensed in preparation of a fight. But the motion that followed was the fluid re-sheathing of the sword in a manner almost as threatening as if it had just been summoned, and no less effective. All it exhibited to Akira was the confidence the other had in the point he had already made, as if his effortless massacre had simply been a theatrical display of power geared towards weakening his opponent's resolve. There was no doubt in his mind that that was exactly what it had been.

"Do they or do they not deserve death?"

Akira remained as impassive as possible under the scrutinizing stare assessing him from across the intersection, flinching only when the heavy black boots lifted from the blood-soaked ground and began to make their way towards him.

"Weak, sniveling life forms unworthy of the air they breathe to survive."

Overhead, Akira could hear the subtle beating of wings as waiting crows hungrily regarded the bleeding carcasses, their cries breaking the silence of the impending night. It was all he could do to avert his attention away from the sickening sight as they began to land, watching instead the approaching figure with growing anxiety.

"Do you…"

The space between them was rapidly decreasing, yet somehow Akira retained his ground, doing his utmost to ignore his throbbing wounds and escalating heart rate.

"…think that you are any different from them?"

Crimson flames cut through the darkness as they descended upon Akira, flattening him against the wall as gloved hands planted themselves on either side of his shoulders, essentially barring him from the opportunity to act upon any last impulse to escape.

Up close, Akira could make out the faint mocking grin that ridiculed him even now, awaiting his response or lack thereof. And while the traumatizing images he had just witnessed and the memories of their first encounter had hardly subsided in his mind, some part of him still detested being looked down upon, far beyond the point of simple hatred and defiance. Despite all his fear, the most prevalent emotion he felt, even still, was an intense loathing of the smug, self-righteous demeanor of the murderer in front of him. By the widening smirk on Shiki's face, Akira was sure that the other man could tell.

"Do you?" the man repeated, leaning in slightly for greater impact.

Akira tightened his grip on the dagger's handle without breaking eye contact, feeling compelled by the proximity to its intended target. All it would take was one swift stab to the side to distract the other before he could sink the blade into the vulnerable flesh of the neck, ensuring death. He _was_ only human, after all; even behind his untouchable exterior.

But Akira also knew that to make even the slightest of movements – a shifting of weight, a grab at his injuries – would most likely be the only provoking the dark haired man needed to render him incapable of anything else. Whether that meant another excruciating wound to live with or death itself, he could only speculate.

"You do," Shiki murmured, letting one hand drift over Akira's wounded shoulder, absently prodding the make-shift bandaging to expose the lesion to the air. Akira gritted his teeth in restrained anguish as the rawness of the laceration sent signals of distress to his brain. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be alive right now."

His fingers twitched in anticipation over the handle of the knife when the taller man continued to graze over the bloody remains of his t-shirt, pressing into each wound with sadistic curiosity. Akira fought to control the gasps and hisses threatening to overflow as he felt the fiery burn beneath each one rekindle under the attention, instead biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and dropping his head to hide the tears of pain gathering in his eyes.

"F-fuck you."

Shiki easily seized the hand intent on stabbing him, stopping the blade mid-thrust before guiding the wrist upwards, pinning it forcefully against the bricks. Akira struggled, not yet ready to accept his predictable defeat with a newfound surge of anger, thrashing wildly until the black trench coat pressed him back into the wall. The dark head of hair dipped beside the silver one, a grin plastered on the former's face.

"I'm surprised that you made it this far, Akira."

At the words spoken directly into his ear, Akira ceased his struggle, paling as his name left the other's lips.

"You have been sent here to die for a goal that is impossible for you to achieve."

The condescension was laced with something akin to a warning, a hidden threat with ambiguous implications. It would have left a greater impact on him if he had not already focused on the fact that the crimson eyed man seemed to know who he was, despite his covert and illegitimate status in the Igura. The apprehension he felt surrounding that mystery triumphed in Akira's mind, the unknown emphasis on the latter sentence largely diminished but not entirely ignored.

"How…" Akira began uneasily, recalling the way the other had acted before in response to simply stealing corpses' tags. The rumors surrounding his name had cast him in a shroud of mystery. That word had been spoken with inconceivable fear, with excitement and curiosity, but no-one had seemed to know what role exactly this 'Shiki' played in the scheme of things; he was not an Executioner, never retrieved the tags off those he killed, and from the snippets of conversation Akira had caught around the bar, was responsible for many of the deaths in Toshima.

From all that he had witnessed, no doubt in Akira's mind threatened the validity of that claim. If so, why wasn't he dead yet?

Ignoring the questions burning beneath his lacerations, the silver haired teen continued, "How do you…?"

"The tracer," came the unexpected response, albeit not without a twisted tone of mirth. "Someone tried to contact you."

Akira faltered as he was reminded of its loss, reminded of its significance. Without it, he…his chance at freedom was…

"To them, you're as good as dead."

The spoken confirmation of his thoughts only antagonized Akira further, deepening his resentment as the rough leather of the gloves cut into his wrists. He refused to believe that all he had done to this point was for naught, that his determination to persist was unfounded by a simple lack of communication – even if the realist inside him was already reeling at the idea.

With emotions threatening to expose his insecurity the moment he opened his mouth to retort, he had no choice but to steady his breathing and level his stare, mustering up imaginary confidence if only to defy the assuredness of the eyes staring back. This was no time to contemplate the entire scope of his situation; doing so would leave him an open book for the other's assessment. He knew that concealing his doubt was in his best interests. That his weaknesses were best left unknown. That he needed, desperately, to get back to Keisuke and warn him, force him to escape and-

"Akira!"

The uneasy shout had broken the relative silence of beating wings and squawking birds, eliciting an unrestrained flash of alarm across Akira's features as he recognized the voice of his friend. The dark haired man registered the change with surprised interest, quickly moving to cover his captive's mouth with a firm hand as he pushed them further into the concealing shadows of the alleyway.

It appeared that Keisuke had not yet seen the display of gore awaiting him at the ever-darkening intersection, had not yet spotted Akira, had not yet come into sight. His unanswered calls were marked by both apprehension and desperation, practically pegging him an easy target as he wandered through the dangerous streets of Toshima. If anyone with a lust for blood had already heard him…

Akira had to fight his immediate instinct to bite down on the hand suffocating him, too fearful of inciting further wrath and putting his friend in greater peril. He had all but forgotten his own danger in letting his composure slip, unsure of the next move to make and yet completely positive that he had to make one. Being unable to make one, however, sent a whole new wave of anxieties crashing through him that wasn't missed by the crimson stare holding his own. He could feel the intensity of it burn straight through him, recording every sign of distress, every subtle hitch in breath as the voice neared in proximity and the faint outline of a figure dissolved out of the haze of impending night.

"Aki-" Keisuke stopped short, finally close enough to see the remains of the massacre splayed out above the concrete. What little was visible beneath the blanket of crows was enough to freeze him in his tracks. He wanted to forfeit the search then and there, return to the hotel and wait patiently like he had been instructed to, maybe cry a little. But he also desperately needed to find Akira, and merely the thought of discovering his friend in such a state made him break out into a cold sweat and choke back rising bile.

Akira averted his eyes towards Keisuke, wincing as he witnessed the brunet fumbling fretfully towards the bodies. He knew the only reason his skittish, self-designated sidekick would walk forwards and not back: he was checking to see if any of the mutilated forms were him.

Shiki followed his gaze, wordlessly analyzing the newest player on the field with a snicker. Akira felt, rather than saw, the shift in emotion beside him and shuddered; his inability to read the intentions behind it only heightened his concern. He couldn't let Keisuke get dragged into this now, not when he was weakened and unable to protect even himself. He would have to sacrifice himself if worse came to worse, and that was assuming that Keisuke would listen if he yelled out the command to run, not feel compelled to stay despite the risk. Considering the risks he had already taken in venturing out on his own, the odds didn't seem to be in Akira's favor.

However, the urge to cry out increased as he watched his friend repress a tearful gag as he stumbled between the corpses, checking each deceased face futilely. The other noticed Akira's changing sentiments and responded by tightening the leather-clad hand around the boy's mouth, shifting upwards slightly to block his nasal passage as well, effectively threatening suffocation if he refused to co-operate.

"This," he murmured in response to the renewed surge of panic across Akira's features, "is your reality. If you refuse to kill, death will find you instead."

A stunted cough from Keisuke offset the silence of the corpses, driving the point home. Akira squirmed fearfully as his lungs screamed for oxygen, continuing to panic at the utter vulnerability of both himself and his friend.

"This is your last warning," Shiki whispered beside him, breath ghosting over his neck in a manner that invoked a sort of nervous claustrophobia. The air grew warmer as the former moved in, flicking out a tongue to trace the partially healed teeth marks from their last encounter. The wound tingled uncomfortably under the sensation, forcing a muffled groan out of Akira as the movement continued up the length of his neck and back down again, ending with an aggressive bite to same bruised spot.

He couldn't repress the flinch that followed, nor the apprehensive quickening of his pulse as the object of his concern shifted, his very own situation resurfacing to the forefront of his mind. The gesture was just as confusing the second time as it was the first, leaving the silver-haired teen dazed and shivering at oddly intimate gesture. The repeated assertion of dominance was not lost on him in the process, the tightening hand around his wrist preventing him from forgetting.

With that, the hand smothering Akira detached, leaving him to sag against the wall in support as he caught his breath. Shiki repositioned his fingers beneath the other's chin, tilting his head up as the boy continued to pant weakly, all the while scanning his face for something unmentioned. The flash of useless defiance as Akira regained his strength seemed to satisfy that curiosity, marking the return of his trademark leer.

"You're going to need much more of that hatred to survive."

Akira grimaced at the condescension yet kept his mouth shut, not daring to further endanger himself with a boldly snide retort. The fact that he still felt belligerence and made little effort to conceal it in his expression seemed to amuse the taller man: something he wasn't quite sure what to make of yet. Then again, he wasn't exactly sure what to make of the entire situation, of his fearful hatred being met with sadistic taunts, of still feeling breath travel through his lungs.

He had been hunted like prey, captured, and released for reasons unknown; this second confrontation made little sense if his life was no longer of importance, if whatever had compelled the swordsman to let him live in the first place had not just been a fluke needing correction. But he was beginning to realize that the man before him was no longer in pursuit of an easy kill. What his true intentions were, on the other hand, remained as arcane as the throbbing bruise at the base of his neck. The sticky feeling of drying saliva against his skin had an involuntary shiver running down his spine for a reason he couldn't exactly comprehend.

A strangled gurgling sound redirected Akira's attention back to Keisuke, who was now unable to hold back the bile any longer as he spewed the contents of his stomach aside the legless cadaver. The momentary stalemate ended as panic for his friend returned, and with it, a renewed urge to escape.

Before he could decide on a course of action, Shiki unexpectedly released the hold on his wrists, lingering for another stationary moment, his presence restraining the other despite the lack of bindings. It was as if Akira had forgotten the dagger, had frozen in anticipation of something, was unable to will his feet to move until he heard the broken sobs of his friend and felt compelled to end his suffering.

Shiki watched as he sprinted into the clearing, nearly tripping over one of the bodies in his haste, and grabbed at the arm of the sniveling mess of the other. Akira gave little explanation as he led them away into the growing night, casting a quick and wary glance over his shoulder for confirmation of not being followed. No gleam of a descending blade, no rapidly approaching footsteps – just the concealing darkness of ascending night.

It was all the encouragement he needed to push forward.

* * *

**A/N: So maybe the level of 'shit going down' wasn't that drastic (I fail, sorry), but rest assured that what you're all here for **_**is **_**coming…it's in the timeline now. ;)**

**I'm still trying to keep everyone (relatively) in character, so development is going to take a little more than this to appear. Hope that doesn't discourage anyone and that not ALL of you are here solely for smut…I appreciate those that are for bearing with me. I'm beginning to think that the summary for this story is misleading, but hey, if it's bringing in over 5000 hits, **_**I'm**_** not going to complain. XD**

**Finally, to be predictably cliché, I have to nicely ask the ones who care about my self-esteem to review. Each one of your reviews have seriously made my day and encouraged me to persist. Without you guys, this story would have died after chapter one. And thank all of you so much for your time and patience! :)**


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N: Not much to say this time, so I'll make it brief: one month! My updates are getting faster (laughs). Maybe it'll be three weeks next time! (don't hold me to it) But seriously, I'm a terrible author for making everyone wait so long. ****Still, I appreciate the (persistent) support. I don't deserve you guys, but I love you all the same!**

**Therefore, without further ado, I present chapter five! Ta-da! (dies from lack of sleep)**

* * *

Keisuke sat silently beneath the windowsill, pretending to be fascinated with the night sky as he listened in on the even breathing rhythmically disrupting the stillness of the air. Akira hadn't said more than a few words to him since their reunion, no matter how desperately he had tried to pry them out. His friend had refused to explain the wounds, the fear in his eyes, his sudden reappearance. He had given no explanation to their hasty retreat, and while Keisuke couldn't deny the relief in getting away from the macabre scene he had stumbled upon, there had been something "off" about his friend's demeanor. Akira had always been cautious, but he had never been paranoid.

In fact, Akira embodied everything Keisuke knew he could not be: brave, strong, determined. When he had discovered his friend's situation, the trials he would be forced to endure in order to prove his innocence, Keisuke had held nothing but respect for the friend who would stake his life in exchange for a world beyond the bars of a prison. It had been that respect that had guided him out here, to Toshima, to accompany his idol since childhood in perhaps their one last adventure together.

It hadn't exactly been hard to see that his presence was unneeded, unwelcome even, but the thought of leaving Akira alone amidst the murderous competitors of the Igura made the possibility of death by his side sound less horrific. What would he be doing without Akira anyways? His life had always revolved around the silver-haired fighter, and he had hoped that it always could. The situation they were in now was simply an excuse for him to remain as a part of Akira's life, a life that was requiring less and less of his company as the years went by.

Akira had always been independent. Keisuke had always been weak.

And it was for these reasons that he was afraid to interrupt the stagnant silence hanging within their temporary sanctuary. He was afraid because he had never seen Akira like this, had never seen him without his characteristic control. He had never seen his friend so burdened, so helpless that the second they had made it into shelter, he had collapsed onto the floor in soundless sobs, his face hidden from sight beneath disheveled hair and a scratched palm. He was covered in drying blood, fresh wounds, and makeshift bandages. He couldn't seem to move one arm too much. He'd had nothing on him; not tags or food or a weapon aside from a small, rusted dagger. He had been completely and utterly defenseless in that moment, the image now burned into the back of Keisuke's eyes.

He had never seen Akira defenseless.

A small cough distracted him, drawing his glazed vision away from the blackness of the outside and towards the faintly lit figure propped against the opposite wall. Through the dark, he could make out the hunched pose, elbows resting on kneecaps, the thick head of hair leaning heavily on crossed arms. Another short cough followed, the frame wracking abruptly with the force.

"Are you okay?" Keisuke's voice sounded distorted to his own ears, the sound broken with anxiety and hesitation. He almost regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Akira shifted slightly, his head raising a fraction in acknowledgement before responding, "I'm fine."

How to respond to that?

_No, you're not, and I can tell._

_Liar._

_Why won't you tell me anything?_

Instead, Keisuke heard himself responding with a nearly whispered "okay", not feeling bold enough to press the matter further. _In time_, he told himself. _Just give him time_. But the other half of him was saying that there may not be a next time, that – if anything – Akira would grow more distant because of this. That this was the time to force it out of him, force him to confront whatever had haunted him over the last couple of days as Keisuke had waited and waited and waited for his return. Akira practically owed him as much, for going out to find him against all better judgment, for risking his life when he had no means of security and no intention to fight.

He wanted to say so much right then, wanted to jump across the room and hug his friend and tell him that it was going to be alright, whatever it was. That he'd always be there for him, no matter the circumstance. That he could be relied on.

Yet no words rose to the surface, nothing of importance that he could see changing Akira's sentiment towards his current behavior. So instead, he remained silent, letting his gaze drift back towards the distant stars as if they had been what he was so transfixed on the entire time. He withdrew back into his comfortless shell, leaving things to lie where they had fallen.

Akira was all too willing to comply.

* * *

The latch clicked shut as he closed it behind him, flipping the lock on the door before proceeding into the room. It took minimal effort to shrug out of the weighty leather trench coat and toss it onto the bed, and even less to remove the holstered katana and lay it beneath the partially boarded window. It was a rare occurrence, to remove the sword completely, but it had been a long day, and he knew that the prevalence of locked doors amidst the city's ruins guaranteed this particular corner of it to be overlooked. If anyone insisted on disturbing him, he was fairly certain that a casual threat of disembowelment would help to dissuade the intruder.

Fairly, being the key word, for it seemed that not everyone in Toshima was quite so easy to bend to his will. The thought ignited a variety of emotions he had long since buried, reminding him that he still did, in fact, have them.

Shiki brought a hand up to his mouth, abstractly biting the corner of the glove to remove it and flex stiffening fingers. He exhaled slowly as he ran the liberated hand through his matted hair, laying the glove down on the windowsill as he observed the empty street below. The rubble was always deserted this time of the night, the landscape motionless aside from the sporadic flickering of street lamps and the occasional rat. The entire city was dead, infested with subhuman scum that imitated the very rodents crawling the sewers beneath. It was a fact he had long since acknowledged, and the circumstances of his role in the Igura were ones he had accepted as a result of his repulsion, but the overwhelming prevalence disgust he felt could not be lifted by merely eliminating its competitors.

Yet it had been quite an interesting couple of days, he mused, a slight smirk gracing his features. A bit of a disruption in his normal routine, but curiously intriguing nevertheless thanks to a certain pair of angry silver eyes. It had been a long time since someone had truly challenged him, much less a sober participant, with merely their willpower. He could tell by appearances and their initial clash that the other was an experienced combatant, just caught hopelessly off-guard. But he could also see that the silver-haired fighter was no match for him physically and knew it. The potential he had was wasted on hesitation and naivety, two things Shiki hoped he had exploited thoroughly enough for the other.

There was no doubt in his mind that he had.

The sinister satisfaction that fell upon him at that notion was undeniable, stirring a sort of keen interest in the unwitting boy's plight. He had tormented him enough to invoke an irrefutable urge of inquisition in the other, assuring that it would not be the last they would see of each other. After all, the hatred evident in that silvery glare demanded a rematch on more equal footing – a condition he was more than willing to oblige, if only to further damage his opponent's resolve. Somehow, it was more enjoyable to dominate that pride with his own rather than destroy it completely. And he was sure that if the truth of his identity ever surfaced, just that would end up happening. For Akira to discover that the subject of his entire mission in Toshima had found and defeated him first, among other things…

With a definitive grin, Shiki leaned against the edge of the window, already eager for the approach of morning.

* * *

"How are you feeling, hm?"

Akira glanced backwards to see the approaching form of Rin, a playful grin plastered on his boyish face and a water bottle in both hands. At the acknowledging look, he tossed one of them to Akira, who caught it somewhat clumsily with the hand of one arm. The wince that accompanied the action didn't go unnoticed by the blond.

"Oops. Sorry. Forgot that was your bad arm." He apologized, scratching the back of his neck as he sat down and swung his legs over the edge of the roof in imitation of the other.

Akira shrugged, rolling his shoulders to relieve tension before he uncapped the plastic container. The water was refreshing under the noon-day sun, and he realized with a little surprise that he'd been out there, staring from his perch above Toshima, nearly all morning. Watching the lifeless city with a certain degree of contemplation. It had been probably the first time since he'd arrived that he'd taken the time to think things over; if it hadn't been for his healing injuries, he would've been out there this moment, despite the risks. And yet he understood now, more than ever, the extent of the danger he was getting himself into on a daily basis. If the last few days hadn't taught him that, he would've really known next to nothing.

"_You have been sent here to die for a goal that is impossible for you to achieve."_

The words wouldn't leave him.

"Nice view," Rin commented beside him, kicking a foot out to test the strength of the draft. "This hotel might've been pretty classy before all this shit happened."

"Yeah," Akira agreed half-heartedly, his thoughts elsewhere.

The smaller boy leaned back on his palms and turned to look at his companion, scrutinizing the emotions, or, in this case, lack thereof on the other's face. Akira noticed the appraisal but chose to ignore it, figuring the questions would pop up sooner or later. That didn't mean that he felt like answering them unprovoked. There was a certain degree of secrecy he wished to maintain around the others, but he also knew that he had questions of his own that needed answering, and that Rin would probably be the best person to ask.

Like clockwork, the inquiries he had been anticipating began shortly afterwards, beginning with: "What _really_ happened last week? I mean, Keisuke wouldn't tell me anything – he said you didn't want to talk about it. But I'm not stupid and neither is he. Those wounds didn't happen because you fell down the stairs. I wanna know how you survived whatever or whoever attacked you; I've seen corpses in better shape. No joke."

The silver-haired teen sighed, twisting the cap back on the bottle reflectively. He _was_ healing, there was no doubt about it. The gashes were still closing up, aided by a makeshift stitching job courtesy of Rin, but the pain had ebbed to a dull throb. He knew that after a few more days, he'd have no choice but to leave the neutral zone and continue his mission. That the longer it took for him to get back on his feet, the more challenging his competition would get. And that he now had to start all over…

"Have you ever heard of 'Shiki'?"

Akira didn't look at the boy next to him, but he would've been surprised to see darkness pass over the other's features, a certain degree of anger igniting in his eyes. "What about him?"

"Who, exactly…is he?"

"Did you meet him?"

The question followed so closely behind his own that Akira couldn't help but turn towards the demanding stare, all traces of humor evaporated in the blink of an eye. It hadn't exactly been the reaction he'd expected; he assumed that Rin would recognize the name and confirm the rumors buzzing around other competitors. He'd expected nothing but another exaggerated tale about how no-one still living had ever seen him, how the only means of identifying the mysterious swordsman was by his infamous katana. He'd expected a lot of things, but not this.

"Did you?" Rin insisted, his eyes narrowing at the lack of reply, "Was it him?"

There was an unsettling quality to the accusations pointed at him, and Akira suddenly wished that he had kept his mouth shut.

"No…I was just curious."

He regretted the lie, but also felt instinctively that his experiences were not ones to be shared. The fact that he had outright denied the truth nevertheless made him feel guilty, especially when it gave off the notion that he was keeping secrets. He could tell that Rin didn't believe him, and the thought that the other could be misinterpreting his awkward response as a form of protecting himself or his mystery attacker left him feeling less than grateful to be in current company.

Rin continued to stare through him, but slowly began to answer the initial question, regardless of his disbelief. "He's…a real psychopath…with no regard for anyone," a slight degree of bitterness accompanied the words. "He kills for nothing but his own twisted sense of pleasure, no exceptions. There's nothing else you need to know."

Akira nodded in quiet understanding, unsurprised by the information but somewhat taken aback by his companion's emotional investment in them. Still, he was intrigued by the certainty with which the statements had been spoken, especially in regards to the 'no exceptions' comment. If that was really true, then he wouldn't have been still breathing, wouldn't be there to receive the delayed warnings about encounters that had already happened.

Did that make _him_ an exception?

As implausible as it sounded, especially with his firsthand account of Shiki's demeanor and actions, there was no denying that he was still alive.

"_Do you think that you are any different from them?"_

Fragments of speech persisted in his mind, replaying insistently throughout his head. The obscurity of their meaning was lessening with further insight, such as what Rin had just provided.

"_Do you?"_

Of course he saw himself set apart from the violent junkies patrolling the streets, picking fights out of sheer bloodlust. He didn't crave the anarchy the Igura provided. He didn't revel in the ruthlessness of impulsive murder. He was here for a purpose. His only other option had left him without much of a choice in the matter. There was something to be said about that.

"_You do…if you didn't, you wouldn't be alive right now."_

It was true. He wasn't arrogant enough to believe himself invincible, yet he was surprisingly prideful when things mattered the most. At the same time, it was his stubbornness that had carried him thus far, that had not lost hope in eventually winning back his freedom. It was hard to believe, but true, that even after all that had happened to him, his outlook remained tenuously optimistic. It amazed even himself that he could be both scared shitless and hopelessly defiant in the face of death, such as he still had the healing wounds to prove.

But, in retrospect, perhaps it hadn't been such a bad course of action to take - just this once. He was somehow sure that a debilitated arm would be the least of his worries if he _had_ groveled for his life. If the massacre in the intersection had proved anything, it was just that. Perhaps his willfulness had worked out in his favor? It was the only plausible deduction he could make about the entire situation, even now. And he'd be sure to keep it in mind as he headed back out to rejoin the merciless competition awaiting him, as it was his only sense of comfort in his present state of mind. There was do doubt that he'd be anticipating the crimson irises to be lurking around every corner from here out.

The anxiety of that thought was accompanied with something akin to morbid curiosity. If it wasn't his life that Shiki wanted, then what?

Akira was too absorbed in contemplation to notice the persisting stare of the other, or the fact that he had failed to attempt any further explanations in exchange for the information. It took a less-than-subtle maneuver to stand for Rin to regain his attention.

"I'm going back in," he muttered, stretching, with an effort towards some of his usual flippancy. "You should soon, too. Keisuke's being all mopey without having you there to bother."

The comment brought back the guilt of leaving the others in the dark, but he managed a small smile in response anyways. As uncharacteristic as it was of him, Akira felt the need to overcompensate for his distant behavior over the past few days. He was just about ready to settle back into normalcy, storing away further reflections for a later time.

"Yeah, sounds good."

Rin seemed pleased by the gesture, managing to regain a cheerful air as he turned towards the exit, pausing only briefly to turn back around.

"Hey, Akira…"

The other waited expectantly for the remainder of that sentence, his attention patiently focused for the time being. The blond seemed to think things over for a moment, searching for the right choice of words before he spoke, a hint of gravity in his tone as he continued.

"Be careful."

* * *

**A/N: So, not the most interesting chapter, I know, but it was in the timeline and it was necessary! I'll have you know that I've already started chapter six, so things **_**should**_** get moving ('should' being the emphasized word here). I've been too busy creating sculptures and melting metal with blowtorches to do much else aside from Tetris (I confess: I am an addict), but writing is always somewhat therapeutic. I should probably do it more. :P**

**Also, I don't really know what color Akira's eyes are (it changes in pretty much every picture I look at), so I'm just going to make them silver. Silver hair and silver eyes are cool, right? Correct me if it really bothers you guys.**

**Oh, and I would also like to reiterate that this will ****not**** be turning into a love triangle/quadrangle/pentagon/etc…Shiki/Akira only, please. So remember not to get too attached to anyone else I throw in here, as it's kind of hard to write a multi-chaptered story with only two characters. That is all. XD**

**Thanks as always for any feedback!**


	6. Chapter Six

**To be completely honest: I forgot about this story. For a long time. Call me a horrible author (I AM), but that's the truth. .**

**Meh, spring laziness (although this dates back to what…last September? Oh god…)**

**But thank you all for your continued encouragement and support regardless. I'll try to get better, I promise.**

**(I don't blame you if you don't believe me, though -_-)**

* * *

"I'm through with playing games, Arbitro."

The masked man cringed at the irritation evident in the other's words, staring cautiously at the dark form before him facing the window. The most he could see of the taller man's expression was through the tension in his shoulders, the leather-clad back giving away no further clues. "But, Il Re…"

"You have no choice in this matter. I let you run rampant for far too long on the condition that you'd play by my rules. There's no need to allow you that freedom if you persist in defying me."

Arbitro was powerless against the other, finding his defense unspoken. With this ultimatum, he would lose nearly everything he had managed to achieve as the primary dealer in Toshima. He would lose his fortune, his extravagancies, his position. And without a means of mainstream distribution, chaos would erupt throughout the Igura as black market venues sprang up, dealing out every last bit of the drug until the entire city's supply ran dry.

And then what? The collapse of a valuable enterprise; the destruction of the Igura. Without regulations, without the basic structure he provided to the competitors, the city would degenerate into an apocalyptic free-for-all. There would be no reason, no gain for anyone – just murder for murder's sake. And that, apparently, was how Shiki wanted it.

For not the first time since they had become business 'partners', Arbitro truly felt hatred for him.

_You're not invincible,_ he echoed quietly to himself, playing the part of the loyal servant as he put forth a dramatic bow. _And you can't keep your back turned to me forever._

Shiki appraised the gesture with obvious suspicion, incredulous towards the mocking display, before pivoting around to face him completely. "I'll say this one last time, so make no _mistake_ on the intention of my words."

Condescending, as always, but impossible to oppose.

Hatred was perhaps too kind a word for the emotion clawing through him.

"No more Line."

* * *

Akira tugged at the zipper on his jacket, growing increasingly frustrated with its immovability. Spare clothes were – not surprisingly – hard to come by in Toshima, and there had been no question over discarding his old ones. Even if he had somehow felt it wise to parade about with dried bloodstains, they had been a bit too…shredded to be of much use. His shirt he had gotten over quickly; his old jacket, not so much.

Keisuke noticed the silent battle wage on, knowing how important hiding what remained of the bandages was to Akira's safety. Any weakness was grounds for a fight, and out on the streets again, it was easier to appreciate the importance of avoiding one.

"Here," he murmured, untying the one he kept at his waist, "Let's trade."

If Akira had an issue with his suggestion, he didn't voice it, opting instead to pull the broken one back over his head and exchange it for the proffered one. The slight wince as he completed the motions didn't go unnoticed to Keisuke.

There had been no explanation, still, for the mysterious wounds – just avoidance. Akira had kept quiet for days before resuming conversation with the others, and even then, the exchanges had been brief and to the point. While Akira had never exactly been one to waste breath on small talk, the graveness that had overcome him was decidedly more distinct than before, more focused somehow. As though he had a specific target in mind, more tangible than just the thought of the challenges before him.

Perhaps that was the reason Akira was making him leave.

"We're not that far from the city limits."

Keisuke nodded, still disbelieving that he had actually agreed to follow his friend so far for the sole purpose of abandoning him again. He still wanted to help, desperately, but there was no longer a need for his presence: Akira had made that much clear.

"_You're not staying here."_

_ It was the first words Akira had spoken to him in days, and he was almost surprised to realize that they had, in fact, been directed at him. So overcome with the promise of that revelation, the words didn't sink in until he looked up and met the icily determined stare transfixed on his own._

_ "B-but, Akira-"_

_"There's nothing you can do to help."_

_ Keisuke froze. He had told himself time and time again that he was useless to Akira's plight, but the words had never been spoken aloud before. He had always somehow thought that his friend cared too much to voice the obvious; he had always been content to pretend that Akira saw him differently than he saw himself. The truth hurt more that he could've imagined._

_ "I'll walk you out tomorrow."_

And here they were, crossing the final blocks towards separation, and then Akira would be alone again. Alone with whatever force had instigated this newfound impatience, determined paranoia, whatever had overcome him since their last division, and Keisuke didn't like it one bit. But when Akira himself had said that he was useless, how was he supposed to argue?

He wasn't.

"Here."

Akira stopped, hands tucked into the recesses of his jacket pockets, and cast a wary glance at the surrounding buildings. They had little time as it was; no-one was supposed to leave once inside Toshima, regardless of the fact that most who entered didn't really expect to, but it was still rumored to be patrolled by the Executioners, and that was enough encouragement to keep the vast majority from trying. That Akira was taking that risk said enough to drive the finality of his decision home.

For a second, Keisuke was at a loss of motion, words, everything; by the next, he was holding onto Akira like he'd always wanted to but never tried, crushing his slightly smaller friend in a suffocating embrace neither had been expecting. Akira froze in his arms, clearly taken by surprise, before raising a tentative hand to return the gesture.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice controlled but the words genuine, and that was harder for Keisuke to deal with than just about anything. He considered it a small victory that only one tear escaped in the face of an emotional breakdown.

"I'm sorry," Akira repeated, voice firmer than before, the hardened edge returning, "But you have to go."

Keisuke was in control of himself enough to pull backwards and bring an arm up to wipe at his face in a move that he hoped looked natural enough, and not like a thinly veiled attempt to hide his distraught. It wasn't fooling anyone, he knew it, but it helped him hold on to a semblance of dignity as he nodded in consent and flashed a difficult smile.

"Good luck."

Akira nodded, and returned the smile with some difficulty himself.

"I'll see you later," he murmured, noticing the slight burden the words lifted from Keisuke's shoulders. He was more than willing to leave on a hopeful note, more than willing to seem the sorts of confidence he wasn't sure _he_ felt, but still needed _someone_ to believe in.

After this, he would truly be on his own.

After this, every uphill battle would be a war.

But, after this, he was the only soldier left on the field to worry about.

And that meant everything.

"When this is over," he added, for good measure.

* * *

Seven steps to the left.

Pause.

Five steps to the right.

Pause.

There was no way to avoid the fallout coming; he was at once ruler and prisoner, and while his word was absolute, he was not so sure of the resistance of the declining empire at his feet. Annihilation hadn't been a choice - it'd been the goal from the start. The Igura had started as an arena for a challenger he had yet to face, and had become a self-serving kingdom of chaos. And while pest-control seemed a viable enough reason to stick around, it was lacking as the sole reason for remaining. Although it wasn't, it was beginning to feel so, and, consequently, growing routine.

Yet there was so much left to accomplish. So much still standing in the way. Only one route he still saw the possibilities within, for the chance to emerge from all of this successful, with his kingdom fallen at his feet.

His hand was on the doorknob before he had even decided to leave.

* * *

In the two weeks since Akira had been off the streets, not much had changed: drug-addled lunatics still stalked the streets like hungry vultures, the buildings looked no more or less dilapidated, and he was still without tags. Rin had offered him a limited number of junk tags for basics like food and water, but without any substantial ones of value, Akira was no closer to accomplishing his goal.

In more ways than one, his encounter with Shiki had set him back.

The only way to compensate for his losses was to turn his aggression outwards – to eliminate the uncertainty surrounding his actions and fight like he meant to win, not just escape.

And opportunities were endless.

"You wanna fight, pretty boy?"

Three against one, he was at a strength disadvantage. Three homicidal thugs doped up on Line were a little more than a disadvantage. But hell if it didn't seem like the best deal he would get all day, and he was still fairly sure that his potential opponents' lack of mental capabilities helped balance the scale a bit in his favor.

"And if I do?"

An answer they hadn't been expecting, but relished in nevertheless, Akira noted. His fingers clenched around the blade hidden in his jacket pocket expectantly, waiting with all the patience in the world for one of them to make the first move.

When it happened, it was faster than he had anticipated, but not fast enough to catch him; the crowbar sliced through the space his head had only recently vacated before Akira was down on the ground, kicking the legs out from beneath his would-be assailant with a clean sweeping motion. It was all he could do to roll out of the way as a hatchet slammed into the ground next to him, narrowly avoiding dismemberment in the process.

A twist and he was back on his feet, ducking again as the axe whizzed by his head. It was the only cue he needed to rush forward, elbow extended, and nail the launcher in the solar plexus, effectively knocking the wind out of a man perhaps twice his size.

With his peripheral vision trained on the attacker stumbling to his feet, Akira took the opportunity to flip out his dagger, spinning it so that the handle was facing his third opponent, and dart behind him fast enough to jam the blunt end between the man's shoulder blades. The roar of pain and blind swing backwards confirmed the move's effectiveness, and it was easy to dodge and parry the attack thrown back at him.

Only when a hand grasped his ankle did he realize that the supposedly winded attacker had resorted to a different tactic, yanking him down to the ground with a force that made Akira grateful that it hadn't come in the form of a punch. He hit the ground with a grunt and promptly used his free foot to kick the man in the face, relaxing his grip enough to break free of the iron grasp and somersault back into fighting position.

He had only a brief moment to appreciate that he'd knocked the man unconscious before he was forced to catch the hatchet with the edge of his blade. Within seconds he realized he was fighting a losing battle of strength; every moment he gave up an inch, the metal was closer to knocking the knife out of his hands – disarming him completely and leaving him wide open for attacks. Which he discovered he was anyways when the man he hadn't noticed already come to his senses managed to slam the previously discarded crowbar into his side.

It just _had_ to be the one still healing from injury.

Akira exhaled sharply and moved to knee the hatchet wielder in the groin, then ducked out of the way of the incoming blade with considerable effort and stumbled backwards, assessing the damage. A nasty bruise was about the most he had confirmed when he was forced to attempt an uppercut on an approaching assailant. It went smoother than he had anticipated, snapping back the jaw of the other man enough to reverse his momentum, and Akira took the opportunity of the physical distraction to follow-up with a crippling slash to the knee.

"You little-"

The last one was fueled more by rage now than humor, the axe swinging wildly before him in an attempt to catch Akira off-guard. It worked, grazing him on the side of his cheek, but only briefly; in a matter of moments, the weapon was lying harmlessly off to the side, and the last conscious attacker was face down on the concrete, cursing through a bloody nose.

_Not too bad_, Akira remarked to himself, regaining his breath.

_But not good enough, _screamed the growing bruise on his side. The dull ache of healing wounds reaffirmed that notion, but the fresh and satisfying rush of adrenaline from victory – no matter how meager – cemented his stubborn optimism. Doubting himself at the point was roughly the equivalent of a soon death.

So he didn't question himself further as he kicked over the stunned thug, probably a little rougher than necessary, and began to search him. Three sets of pockets later and he had come up with a handful of junk tags – not even a face card. It wasn't entirely unexpected, just frustrating. Getting used to disappointment had become something like second nature to him.

Just as an increased awareness of his surroundings had become a necessary part of survival, and damn if something didn't feel _off._

Akira tucked the tags into his jacket as he stood, slowly, and reminded himself of the knife waiting at his beck and call. He was on alert, but he felt far from vulnerable, and that made the next few moments a lot less intimidating than they could have been.

"Killing is much more effective."

Behind him, somewhere off to the side. He turned, but there was no distinguishing anything out from the rubble, not even the source of that unmistakably recognizable voice.

Maybe it was the weeks removed from the constant stress of survival, maybe it was the fading effects of triumph, maybe it was just because he had rationalized it all to death, but Akira found the oddest smile make its way on to his face. Not of humor; more along the lines of contempt, and he could virtually see the sneer that reaction earned.

"Not all of us are murderers."

He was poised for an attack that never came, the knife waiting expectantly before him in the direction he was sure was the correct one.

"I find that strangely unconvincing."

His skin crawled more from being left in the dark rather than being confronted, but he was beyond letting it show. Too much, anyways.

"Not all of us have to be."

A sore spot he would have to store away for further reference, Akira decided, as the ambush he had been expecting flew at him from the complete opposite side, leaving him just enough time to fling his blade up to deflect the flashy attack. However, the force he had anticipated behind it wasn't there, and he realized, face to face with the most frequent subject of his contemplation over the last couple of weeks, that he wasn't being taken seriously. And he was sure, judging by the dangerously self-satisfied smile deflecting his bravado, that his hammering heartbeat was audible by a mile.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Shiki murmured, his gaze boring holes into Akira's as their blades remained frozen in a mock clash against each other. It would have been comical, if Akira hadn't known the potential for this to get serious very quickly, so he took it into his own hands instead.

He pushed back with what he could muster in such a short distance, managing to drive both blades against the pale neck across from him before he realized that there was no resistance at all. An inch further and blood would stain flawless skin; another couple and the wound would be a mortal one. Another, and-

The bloodlust in his eyes must have been more evident than he realized, because when Akira pulled his eyes away, he found crimson ones glittering in amusement and the feel of an exhale - a stifled laugh – ghost across his face.

"So easy, isn't it?"

The words seemed all the more real, mesmerizing even, when spoken from only inches away.

"To snuff out a life."

Shiki pushed forward, letting his own sword bite into his flesh in a languid trickle of blood that Akira's scrutiny was inexplicably drawn back to, even as he breathing grew ragged and the fear crawled back under his skin.

"You could do it."

No, no he couldn't, Akira wanted to say, but it was harder to speak when it was so hard to fight the urge to press forward just a little more, to test the allowance he was being given just a little further, without thinking of the consequences.

"You want to do it."

And, no, that was a lie, too, because the last thing Akira wanted was blood on his hands; it contradicted everything he had come here to disprove, everything he had ever lived by. But then there was the subtle swallow that stretched the cut beneath the katana, and it looked painful as hell, but he couldn't look away.

"You have to do it."

It barely even registered when a harsh nip at the corner of his jaw sent shivers of not exactly the bad variety down his spine, and the tongue that followed reminded him of the long-forgotten slice across his cheek, and why wasn't he pulling backwards?

"But you won't. Not now, at least."

And then all pretentions of control vanished as the katana lunged forward and Akira was sent stumbling to the ground. He hit the gravel and managed to roll back into a crouching position, his knife held up in wary defense; Shiki didn't move, just brought a gloved hand up to wipe away the blood trickling down his neck, his demeanor unwaveringly condescending and dangerous, yet it seemed more for effect than any true homicidal malice. He had had more chances than Akira wanted to recount to kill him and still had not done so. There was no need to ask why that was, but in a fit of suicidal curiosity, Akira needed to find out.

"Why," he began, rising to his feet as steadily as he could manage, "haven't you killed me?"

When he got no answer, he tried again, albeit a little less surely: "What do you want?"

A spiteful snicker, amused and at the same time completely not, gave him the only response.

"You're not playing the game," Akira continued, voicing his suspicions with the illusion of self-assuredness. His jaw, the drying saliva across it, tingled with apprehension anyways.

"No," Shiki confirmed, but with a tone that indicated the blatancy of that accusation. As if he were stupid for even bothering to point it out.

"You just enjoy killing," Akira rebuked, remembering the unheeded cries of dying men, the bloodthirsty flock of crows. The glitter of blood against steel in the dying sunlight. "You're just a murderer."

A warning flash of crimson irises cautioned Akira otherwise, but ultimately declined the challenge presented by the words. The playing field was obscenely unbalanced, and it had been proved well enough already, so the smile was unwavering: "And you're just a pawn."

He had to remind himself of his injuries – of how true the words were, even if he didn't want to admit it – to withhold himself from refuting that point. Akira was not ignorant of his predicament, not any less cynical about the reality of surviving the task ahead of him than he felt he should be, but he resented the truth regardless. Especially when put in such black-and-white terms. Especially when the other knew exactly why he was here and didn't want to be. Especially since he had already seen what that katana and its wielder could do.

But defiance had worked so far, fear had not, and he no longer had anyone aside from himself to worry about.

"What do you want?"

The question was repetitive, but it was all he had left. And for some strange reason, it didn't seem like Shiki had come here to fight.

"To make you an offer."

That gave Akira pause. There had been no talk of compromise when the blade had been at his throat before, no inkling of mercy. Which left him to believe that whatever was about to be "offered", he wasn't going to like.

"What makes you think I'd be interested," he spat, "in playing any more games?"

The smile he received retained its condescending bent, but the eyes steeled over slightly. "Because, at this point, you have no choice."

As expected.

And Akira made a point to reply just as predictably: "Give me one reason," he spat with defiance, "and sparing my life doesn't count."

"Your life isn't the only one you care about."

Which is why he had make Keisuke leave.

"Because you're just as weak and pathetic as the rest of them, in your own way."

Which was why this leverage wasn't going to work.

"But you have use."

Which is why he hoped his friend was as far away from this godforsaken place as possible and had never once thought to look back.

"And you're already fighting a losing battle."

But didn't explain why the words rang so confidently true, and why he was already feeling apprehensive and unsure of himself, his pride momentarily taking a backseat to what he tried to write off as morbid curiosity as he ground out -"What do you want?"- for the third time that day.

Shiki was still bleeding, his neck stained by the crimson liquid, and while it served as a reminder of his mortality, it wasn't helping to portray him in a less dangerous light. Akira knew that it could just as easily have been his own blood he was staring back at, tinting the pale and rigid features.

"Join me," Shiki advised, less of an option than a lenient command, "and I'll guarantee your survival."

There was a silence in which everything from hatred and defiance to humor to bewilderment passed through Akira's head before he was coherent enough to form a response.

"Why?" If his voice had sounded more unsure, he wouldn't have recognized it as his own.

"It's not your concern."

"Then why the-"

"You're still nothing but a rabid dog who's forgotten his leash."

Teeth grit, Akira wasn't taking this one sitting down: "I had no choice!"

"And I'm offering you the chance to make one. To breathe a little beneath that collar."

"What makes you think that I-"

"Because you know, deep down beneath all that false bravado and optimism, that there's no chance for you to win," and with eyes narrowed challengingly, Shiki continued, "as long as I'm still here."

Silence.

"You'll have every chance to kill me and no-one left to kill you. And then you can run home to your masters to beg for your freedom. It's the only hope you have for leaving Toshima alive, and you know it."

Akira was brave, prideful, and defiant.

He was not stupid.

"Why should I even trust you?"

"Because I haven't killed you yet."

Akira's throat felt like a desert, his mouth so dry that he had to swallow just to soothe the burning ache. There was truth and danger and intrigue all hidden between those words; there were lies, undoubtedly, as well. He had seen murder by that sword, he had felt sociopathic disgust radiate from that smile, he knew the eyes were that of a predator and that he was seen as prey.

But Akira also had the confidence and instinct to make it thus far, and while everything pointed to a swift rejection of this proposition, there was also something about it that intrigued him. He'd been fruitless so far on his own – to the point that he'd resorted to the theft that had led to the beginning of these repetitive and unfortunate encounters – and had no direction. This gave him one. This presented a new array of challenges but also a new array of potential victories. And it let him keep an eye on who was indisputably the strongest force he had encountered thus far, saving him the trouble of wondering just when the next attack would come.

Yet it also threw him into a situation he wasn't quite sure he was prepared for, with a stranger who had already attempted to kill him once. It also forced him under constant surveillance, regardless that he already was from a distance – if the people he was working for had not already written him off as dead or MIA. And it put him at the discretion of a killer, a ruthless and cold-blooded murderer, and that wasn't exactly a good foundation for trust. But it'd be a lie to say that he wasn't already at the discretion of hundreds, maybe thousands, of like-minded individuals dumbed down by the drugs pumping through their bloodstreams with no less remorse for a human life than a mosquito's.

Just, none of them were this dangerous – not really. Whatever he lacked in strength, Akira often made up in brains, but Shiki was no brawny idiot. And if he could outsmart Shiki, he could outsmart anyone left to go through. Perhaps even the Il Re. And wasn't that what he had come here to prove? That he could win the Igura on his own terms and reclaim his independence? That he could do whatever it took to outmaneuver his opponents and emerge with victory? If it took putting aside a piece of his pride to reclaim all of it in the end, could he live with himself for making a deal with a devil?

Somewhere in the distance, Keisuke was waiting for him to come home.

Akira spoke, dropping his shoulders in the slightest, "I'm not killing anyone."

Shiki loomed from the darkness, his voice assuredly pleased by the course the conversation had taken, "You won't have to. But you may want to, eventually. Follow me."

Akira hesitated as he watched the leather trench coat withdraw back into the shadows, wondering for one last time if he had made the wrong decision. There was no turning back from this point, no way to retreat. But his hatred spurred him on. His determination convinced him that this would pay off. That the only person he could ever fathom killing – and that thought still repulsed him, but his subconscious fed it to him anyways - was giving him the best opportunity to do so. That one moment of hesitation would be all it took, and that, until then, he would have to be more alert than ever. There was only one shot to do this.

And with his first step forward, he had taken it.

* * *

Wow, I know. MORE build-up. Geez, this stage is taking a lot of work to set, but at least I have a clear idea of where this is heading.

Maybe it's gonna be longer than I originally intended, but I'll try to keep it on my mind more often anyways. Determined to finish this sucker before I die. I can only hope the wait so far hasn't been for naught to you guys, because there are plenty of other ways my time could be spent (like sleeping, occasionally...nah).

And, of course, your reviews have seriously been the deciding factor in me choosing to continue this, so more can never hurt. I can't thank those of you who have already done so enough. You're the best fans I'll never deserve!


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